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It was always there. When I was young it came rarely, maybe when I was close to crossing the street and hadn’t looked left and right yet, or when I left a sharp knife on the kitchen counter, or that time when I was at the supermarket and there was a man that kept following me for four or five aisles, until I found mom again.

I think it somehow connects to my intuition. I’ve heard others describe that they can feel a shiver on the back of their spine, or that the hair on their arms stands up when they are nervous. For me the only time the hair stands up is when I’m cold.

And else, when I’m scared, there is the bell.

I can’t remember the first time I heard it. The first memory I have of hearing it, when I was at my grandmothers’ place at the strange round pile of stones, and I was digging through the stones to look for rabbit babies, when it was ringing, thundering in my ears, I wasn’t surprised or scared. I must have heard it before. It started ringing, loud and clear, and when I kept digging it got louder, as if a huge church bell was slowly moved closer to me, ringing more vigorously and faster with every single stone that I pulled to the side.

Maybe grandma heard the bell too. I remember she came running, screaming for me to get away from the well. I was on top of some of the stones. And the stones started moving. And grandma grabbed my arm, but my legs, they fell with the stones and hit against the wall. I remember how grandma’s arm shivered when she pulled me out of the hole. She was old then already, maybe 60 or 70, and she was the same thin that she has always been in my memory.

She says she studied at Yale, but it’s so hard to believe her when I remember it so vividly.

I met Kodi just a few months back. She was sitting in a café with a copy of Lord of the Rings on her table – or was that me? I was wearing a bright purple sweater and I approached her and took the book of the table while I made a joke about never having heard about it. I’m not really sure if it was a joke. And I’m not really sure if it was me or her that said it.

“Tolkien, what a strange name.”

It’s confusing, this amalgam in my head. There’s somewhere a dent in the conversation.

Tyler entered my life as if he had always been there; it was almost surreal, the way he came and approached me and made a joke and the next and the next and I couldn’t stop laughing. There was a second date, then a third, and I knew that there would be no one else, ever, that could be like him.

His smell made me think of home. His voice made me calm and relaxed. His hobbies were like mine and he care about all those little, weird things that I cared about.

He was not my type physically, but no matter if you are man or woman – someday you will find that the physical doesn’t matter and that there is an attraction deeper than the physical, an attraction that you can neither stop nor increase, an attraction that just lives like a silent flame in the basement right below your heart. It got warm, hot even, when he came closer. His touch made me tingle, his words made me bite my lips.

Like a little girl, a fifteen or sixteen year old, in love for the first time; that’s what I felt like. That’s what I was. Mentally and emotionally reduced to the level of an early teen. I was there for him, and only for him. Continue reading →

It’s not that I’m ugly. People don’t turn around and gag when they see me. The problem is that they don’t smile either. And if there’s one thing every woman learns far too young it’s that everything is about looks. Only it isn’t.

I tried clubbing, house parties, online dating – hell, even book clubs. We exchanged glances, introductions, nice words – but no matter what I tried, it never went further than that. Men always seemed to run away from me. I thought it was my looks – make up, push up, perfect pants and a shirt or dress with a cleavage so deep that I thought my nipples might jump out – and yet, nothing.

I was online, searching for operations to fix all the flaws in my face and body. There was an ad on top of one of these websites, blinking fast in red and orange with large black text:

He had an animal for all of us. The small kid with the bad vision, he had a secret badger at his core. The blonde that never wore anything but a ponytail was secretly a snake. Steve himself, with his quick and snappy punches was a scorpion. And I, I was a wolf.

There was something true about his animals, I can’t deny that. The more hours I spent in his lessons the more I saw the animal in each of us. The way the blonde moved quickly from side to side; the way the bespeckled kid was slow to attack but vicious and unstoppable when he was close – it was all there.

I liked being a wolf. Steve said it was a bad animal to be.

“Wolves need their pack,” he always said. “You should never hunt alone.”

First my parents had signed me up for wing chun classes. They said that they wanted me to exercise more. In reality they wanted me to gain self-confidence, but that’s not something you tell your child. Continue reading →

I’ve not always been this way. I was born normal and I never even met anyone of this kind. I suppose there might be a genetic component – a few times my dad told me about the day when he found his grandmother sprawled on the living room floor.

My great-grandfather was never caught, but when dad found my great-grandmother, he heard movement in the house. Dad was just ten or eleven years old so when he ran out of the house he screamed that an animal had attacked his grandmother. But when he grew older he began to suspect that what he heard wasn’t an animal at all.

For me it started with Sophie. We were together for three months. I liked her cute jokes and sweet smell and, to be honest, also her great body. Continue reading →